


We're Going to Vermont

by valeriacatulli



Category: Saturday Night Live, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - B&B, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, KKK, Misunderstandings, Poe Dameron is a Mountie, Smuggler Han Solo, Undercover Missions, Vermont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeriacatulli/pseuds/valeriacatulli
Summary: Rey Nemo gets suspicious about some of the guests showing up at her B&B on the shore of Lake Champlain in Vermont. She's pretty sure they are white nationalists, and she wants nothing to do with that garbage. So when her old friend Finn calls her up and asks her to play along with the neo-Confederates to support an ongoing undercover operation against the KKK, she's pretty reluctant but eventually agrees. Will she make it through the weekend without beating the crap out of her guests?[Inspired by Adam Driver's season 44 SNL opener neo-Confederate sketch. Characterizations are mostly based on Star Wars, plot bunny hopped out of SNL and BlackkKlansman as a way to explain why Kylo and Finn are getting along!]





	1. Chapter 1

The leaves shimmered a brilliant yellow and orange and a brisk, pleasant breeze shivered over her skin. The honking of geese passed by overhead. Fall was coming and it was the most beautiful season in New England. Rey smiled. She was originally from Old England, and fall wasn't quite so beautiful there. She tugged the scarf tighter around her neck and collapsed the extensible ladder. Putting away her paints and brushes, she was ready for the fall season of B&B guests. She was wiping her hands on a rag when her phone rang. Finn. Her bestie. What could be better? 

 

****************************

_Three weeks earlier..._

 In a dreary room in the community center, a group of white men and women gather around a Confederate flag. Their leader is pale, scrawny, with red hair. He moves to begin the meeting.

"It’s been over a year since we First Order Neo-Confederate Volunteers marched on Charlottesville, and things haven’t gotten better. More foreigners coming in, more strangers who don’t respect our way of life. We’re losing our culture. I will not sit quietly. You with me? (everyone cheers) So tonight, I have a plan. A grand vision. If they’re going to keep comin here, we’re gonna go someplace else. Our own place, for our own people. No immigrants, no minorities, an agrarian community where everyone lives in harmony. Because every single person is white." His rant over, Hux lapses into silence.

A man in the front row, wearing a Bike Week baseball cap, lifts his hand to respond. "Yeah I know that place. That sounds like Vermont."

Hux, Wizard of the local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan, is not impressed. "Vermont? No sir what I’m talking about is a place purely for Caucasians. Where even the people who wash the dishes and pick the fruit are white."

The man in the cap responds. He has lanky, long black hair and a crooked smile. "Oh yeah that’s Vermont."

"Are you new here?" Hux interrogates.

"Uh, yeah, I’m Kyle-Ron. I'm originally from up north. …Don’t worry, I’m from Boston. But I’ve been to Vermont many times and it’s just like what you were saying," the man replies.

"I’m sorry but you don’t seem to understand," Hux objects. "What I’m proposing is a whole new society. Going back to a time when a white man can take things that he grew from the ground and trade them with another white man who grew things from the ground."

Kyle-Ron smiles. "That’s a farmers’ market and they’re all over Vermont."

Dolph, Hux' right-hand man, interjects. "For this year’s white nationalist retreat we were going to go to Colonial Williamsburg again. Hey, maybe we should go to Vermont. …The leaves change colors but the people never do."

A chorus of voices concurs. Phasma speaks up: "I just found a B&B in Colchester, listen to this. Cozy 8 bedroom farmhouse vaulted ceilings two-way fireplace fly-fishing and off-roading nearby. That’s a Caucasian paradise y'all."

Hux finally concedes to the will of his followers: "Well it’s settled: we’re going to Vermont."

 

***************************************

"Rey, we've got a weird situation," Finn panted out. "You're not going to like this."

"If I'm not going to like it, I at least deserve a muffin," Rey pointed out. "Meet me at the cafe."  She hung up the phone, grabbed her purse, and made sure the front door was locked. Not that it mattered; the nearest break-in in the last five years was a mile from here.

Twenty minutes later she was ensconced in a booth in Kaydel's latest endeavor. Finn arrived only moments later, and soon they were face-to-face over their favorite afternoon beverages (hot cocoa for Finn, twig kukicha for Rey).

"What's the deal?" Rey asks, brows raised at her friend.

"You're honestly not going to believe this," Finn sighs, "but you are going to be instrumental to taking down the KKK."

"Um, ok?" Rey looks perplexed. "Happy to oblige, but last I checked they were not very interested in visiting the Champlain Islands of Vermont."

"Well, you can just wait and see," Finn says. "Word has it they finally figured out how white it is up here."

"Ugh," Rey says. "So, what is our game plan? Spit in their drinks?"

Finn mildly glowers at her. "No, come on. You know we are more powerful than that. Let's get them caught in something really dangerous that will put them out of the way for a while. What is very dangerous up here?"

Rey thinks for a moment. "Well, there is the opium crisis obviously."

Fin nods, chewing his upper lip. "Definitely bad, and we will take advantage if it comes our way. But we don't want to touch getting involved with that."

Rey thinks. "International smuggling? I hear the border is very porous. There is a library that is in both countries."

Finn smiles brilliantly. "That sounds like the ticket. Between racist vacationing and international gun sales, we should have something to attract everyone. You just keep your political preferences to yourself and flaunt that posh accent and we should be good to go."

"These people sound kind-of awful," Rey dithers. "Maybe I should give Rose the weekend off." 

Finn glances up suddenly. "Yeah...that sounds like a good idea," he agrees, his voice sparking up an octave suddenly.

 

 *********************************

Rey is rocking gently on her broad front porch when the first large crew-cab pickup truck arrives. A blonde women flops out of the passenger seat, clearly in great discomfort from many hours' drive. "You the Victorian B&B?" she asks. "Quite so," Rey answers, plastering on a fake smile. "How can I help you?" 

"I'm Phasma," the woman answers. Rey quickly realizes that the woman she is speaking to is ginormous. She could well be starting center for a ladies' professional basketball team. "Nice to meet you, Phasma," Rey responds. "I've located your party in the recent wing of the house so you have air conditioning. Let me show you to your room."

 


	2. Keep Calm and Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The KKK settles in to Rey's Victorian Bed and Breakfast. After a series of odd encounters with her annoyingly attractive guest, she needs to work out what's going on. A meeting with Finn is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who was confused by the final paragraph of chapter 1 in its original version. It was pasted into the wrong place from a different draft! Thanks for reading...

Rey worked for an hour getting all of the guests settled into their rooms. Other than most all the vehicles sporting stickers with some variation of a Confederate flag on them (Rey groaned and hoped no normal customers wanted to stay in her inn this weekend), nobody made any weird comments. There weren't any pointy hats and white sheets. 

One smaller, dark-haired man--he'd said his name was Mitaka--quickly ensconced himself in the lounge room downstairs. It was set up as a sort of den and decorated with vintage British prints and watercolors depicting fox-hunting scenes. All the upholstery and pillows also featured duck and fox pictures, and fox skins were draped on a couple pieces of the less comfortable furniture. Mitaka seemed to be in a transport of delight when he saw the three black powder rifles that hung over the fireplace. 

Other guests headed outdoors. Hux, a scowling man that everyone else seemed to look up to, and Phasma, the big blonde, grabbed shitty American lagers out of a styrofoam cooler and headed down to the grassy waterfront. This would probably not be a weekend where she could send her guests to the best local breweries, Rey mused. 

Two of the others were having an argument on the front porch. Rey had met the one, Jeff Bala-Tik. He was smarmy and arrogant, wearing a white polo shirt and khakis and leering like a salesman when he shook her hand. She'd made her exit from that situation as fast as possible. Now, though, it looked like Bala-Tik was leaving the scene. Whatever he and the other man were arguing about, she couldn't hear. But Bala-Tik sneered a final time and reentered the inn, slamming the door behind him.

Rey prepared to follow him into the building reluctantly when she heard footsteps approaching. The other man from the porch walked up and stuck out his hand. With his left hand he pushed back long, wavy dark hair from his face. "I'm Kyle-Ron," he said. "Kyle-Ron Stallworth. I got here after the others. Um, you're the innkeeper?"

"That's right, I'm Rey," Rey answered tersely, quickly detaching her hand from the handshake. "Let me know if you need anything." She turned to go but was arrested by a firm grip on her upper arm, only to be let go suddenly a moment later, like he had touched hot coals.

"Actually, I..." Kyle-Ron trailed off. "I need... No, I mean." He cleared his throat in exasperation. "Everybody calls me Ronnie. So you can call me Ronnie." 

Rey quirked an eyebrow. "Okay then...Ronnie. See you later."

She stepped through the door and moved on. Certainly a weird group of people, though that last guy had amazing hair. Passing the lounge, she noticed that Mitaka had climbed up on a wingback chair and was trying to reaffix one of the rifles to the wall. 

"Dude!" the not particularly customer-service-oriented exclamation shot from her mouth. "What are you doing!"

Mitaka stepped down sheepishly. "I...love guns. I couldn't resist handling such an amazing specimen." He smiled and continued polishing and fondling the weapon. "She's beautiful."

"Um, yes," Rey responded. "There's a shooting range in the next town if you want to shoot while you are up here. But please leave my collection on the walls." She tried to smile politely. Honestly, Rey didn't give a crap about the collection of guns. She left the decorations in the public rooms exactly as they had been back when Maz ran the B&B. She didn't wait for Mitaka's sheepish response; it was time to prepare tea.

Tea at the Victorian B&B of Mallett's Bay was a complicated affair and Maz had made it famous. Rey tried to carry on the very British tradition even though Maz' knowledge of British culture had been of the fannish variety and Rey herself had been brought to the States so long ago that she couldn't remember teatime. The array of teas, scones with clotted cream and local jam, and finger sandwiches were very popular with guests and attracted some local regulars of the grandmotherly variety. The meal was usually a great time to make herself available to the guests with recommendations of local activities-- before she made herself scarce for the evening and had fun with her friends.

Since Rose wouldn't be coming in to spell her tonight, though, she'd be stuck here. So much for fun with her friends. At least Rose and Finn could spend time together while he was in town, though. They were a pretty new couple, and way too cute. 

The gaggle of Southern guests responded well to the tea and her recommendations of activities for the evening and following day. Most of them were excited to spend Saturday four-wheeling, but some of them wanted to check out a farmers' market. Rey explained that the Burlington farmers' market had lots of prepared foods "from different cultures." She hoped the hint would push her customers to go somewhere else, because she loved that market and didn't really want to run into them. She also sang the praises of the farmers' market on Grand Isle, which was "traditional" and "full of great products for tourists." They appeared convinced.

Rey puttered around the property in the twilight after the pickup trucks had caravaned off to some BBQ joint to listen to a local blues and country performer. With a sigh she sat down on an Adirondack chair looking out at the lake. What was she even doing? Finn's suggestion that she could charm these people, who were apparently horrible Klansmen, and they would end up smuggling weapons and getting sent to prison, simply didn't make any sense. She quickly texted Finn to meet her at the market downtown the next day. She needed a better idea of what was going on.

Just as her eyelids started to droop Rey was surprised when a large shadow suddenly unfolded itself from one of the boulders down at her waterfront. As the looming figure approached she saw that it was Kyle-Ron. He came right up to her and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, shrugging up his powerful-looking shoulders.

"Thanks for having us, Miss Rey," he murmured. "I don't remember the hospitality being quite so pleasant the last time I visited Vermont."

Rey was glad it was dark out now so he didn't have to see her blush. Wait, what? Why was she blushing at a KKK member flirting with her? Ugh. "Thanks," she bit off tersely. Then, as a pause stretched out with no sign of him removing himself, she realized she'd need to find another way to end the conversation. "Um, you've been to Vermont before?"

"Yeah," he responded eagerly. "I, uh, used to live in Boston a while back. Visited up here a few times."

"Well, um, welcome back," Rey said hesitantly. "I'm going to bed." She pulled herself up out of her chair and began walking back toward the main inn building. 

"I'll join you," Kyle-Ron said, jogging to catch up. Then a pause. "Oh, um, I didn't mean it that way, obviously. Um, you didn't invite me. Uh, I'm totally putting my foot in my mouth." He sputtered out, basically running as he made a beeline for the room he was sharing with Mitaka.

Rey was just left standing dumbfounded in the doorway. What was that? Did he really think that joining her in walking back into the house was inappro---ohhh, she realized. He thought she'd think he said he'd join her in bed. Well. The gentleman surely doth protest too much.

Rey fell asleep with a soft smile on her face and dreamt of a tall, socially awkward man. She was prone to nightmares, though, so this time, when the man she was embracing in her dream shifted suddenly to being garbed in a white pointy hat, beating Finn with a heavy stick, she wasn't as surprised as she wanted to be. This was messed up all around. No more soft thoughts for the enemy, she promised herself when she woke distraught and sweating.

* * *

At ten o'clock in the morning every Saturday in warmish weather, City Hall Park in Burlington, Vermont is packed with people and dogs. Vans and pickups from various farms crowd the parking spaces on College Street while tents line the diagonal pathways of the park and the temporarily pedestrianized St. Paul Street block. In one of the most obscure corners you can find the small green tent of Skywalker Farm Matcha & Milk, staffed by an older man with a bushy grey beard. He sells goat dairy and a variety of matcha products including matcha kombucha, matcha cold brew, and matcha pourover.

When Rey got to the park that morning, old Luke was putting out his little sample cups. "Good to see you, Rey!" he smiled. "Ready to try my new matcha kefir this week?" Rey eyed the thick, greenish-white substance in the sample cups for a minute before shaking her head. "No thanks, Luke! Just my usual tea please." Luke took a big swig from his personal jug of green kefir, wiping his sopping beard with the back of his hand before serving Rey's iced matcha. "That all?" Rey smiled and paid before moving over to the top of the steps of the brewpub across the street, where she planned to meet Finn. The spot was a great vantage point, partially obscured by a large stone lion, and they would be able to keep track of whether anyone was listening to their conversation.

Rey only had to wait a few minutes before Finn appeared, carrying a coffee and a huge, sticky cinnamon roll in waxed paper. "All right, babe," he started before she could speak. "This better be an important conversation because I am missing out on taking my girl Rose to brunch. You know I only get up here once a month. What do you need to know? Of course, I can only tell you on a need to know basis," he smiled around a bite of the roll.

"You aren't really supposed to tell me anything at all, are you?" Rey tilted her head at him.

"Not really by protocol, no," Finn said, "but the Chief knows all about you and isn't concerned you will blow up in our face. Now, if my FBI contact knew...let's just say keep this between you and me, right?"

"Right. So. Why don't you start from the beginning? What is going on?"

Finn took a deep breath. "So, you remember about three years ago when I got desk duty for a few days?"

"Right," Rey replied. "When you punched that guy who called your partner a ho while you were working detail."

"Exactly. Anyway, Chief Akbar suggested I use my time to do something worthwhile, and start investigating the rising racist garbage posted by people in the Boston area on social media. I created some profiles on Twitter and Reddit for a made up person. The profile picture was always the Confederate flag and the name--get this. There was an African-American cop in the Seventies who infiltrated the KKK. So I took his name, but tweaked it a little. Then I just sat around retweeting horrible garbage and connecting with Boston area racists. Fun." He grimaced.

"Before I knew it I was getting invitations to Neo-Confederate forums and events. I had a profile full of racist junk, but obviously I couldn't go show up at their meeting to find out what was going on, since I'm black! So the Chief put me in touch with his friend at the FBI. They had a white agent who took over the social media profiles and the goofy name I had made up and actually started going to the events around Boston. The information was really useful and we were able to catch some vandals and a black-market weapons dealer. But this year I think the FBI is looking for more results so the agent went down South to get embedded closer to the actual KKK power structure."

"Ok," said Rey. "Sounds pretty ballsy. But I don't understand why this has to do with me."

"Hear me out here," Finn proceeded. "Grand Dragon Snoke and his close cronies never leave areas where they have strong support in their community. So it is really hard to prosecute them for any crimes since everyone turns a blind eye. The FBI figures they need to catch these guys committing crimes while crossing state lines so it is a federal offense, or they need to catch them committing crimes where the community does not support them. So the embedded agent convinced this Neo-Confederate chapter, which apparently has at least one guy who is really close to the Grand Dragon, to take a trip to Vermont. Now we just hope they commit a crime."

"Hmm, that is a lot to think about," Rey mused. "You can't tell me which of my guests is the undercover agent, can you? I'd like to be less bitchy to them."

"Sorry, babe," Finn replied.

"They all have really weird names that might well have been made up by a grumpy cop on desk duty," Rey thought. "Hux, Bala-Tik, Phasma, Kyle-Ron, Dopheld Mitaka...it's unbelievable how fake all their names sound."

Just then Finn's phone rang, interrupting their conversation. He motioned to her apologetically and picked up, standing up and withdrawing a few steps on the still-deserted patio of the brewpub. Police work, then. If it were Rose, he would have put her on speaker with Rey. Finishing her matcha, Rey looked around, enjoying the fall sunshine. Across the street the digital display on an old bank building informed her that it was 59F, and then, helpfully, 15C.

On the other corner, someone was wedging a huge and battered '70s-era Chevy Suburban into one and a half illegal parking spaces. The vehicle had some sort of ridiculous air-brushed bird of prey festooning the back and North Carolina license plates. But what really drew Rey's attention was the man who emerged from the driver's seat. He sported black jeans and a tshirt with skulls and some sort of message about Myrtle Beach Bike Week--a message that Rey didn't internalize because she was busy ogling his physique. He had long, gorgeous black hair and when he turned around she saw...it was Kyle-Ron. She'd just been drooling over...one of her stupid racist inn guests. Ugh. She tried not to show how flustered she was, which was wise because just then Kyle-Ron finished locking his beast of a vehicle and looked up. When he saw Rey his eyes lit up.

Just then, a couple of public works trucks drove down the street, interrupting their view of one another. Rey felt Finn returning to sit at her side. "Sorry about that, Rey," he sounded subdued. "Partner stuff. Sounds like a rough day back in Boston. Luckily Akbar doesn't need to cut off my weekend off, but I still wanted to be supportive."

"I totally understand," she murmured, patting his thigh companionably. "By the way you might..." she trailed off. The trucks had just moved out of the way, revealing Kyle-Ron impatiently hurrying toward her into the street. Just as he reached the middle of the road, though, she saw the moment when he registered the sight of Finn sitting next to her, saw her hand on his leg. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, perhaps shock or even anger; then his brow furrowed, he checked himself, turned around, and disappeared into the crowd at the market. "...huh." Rey finished, finding herself slightly disappointed.

"I might what?" Finn asked curiously.

"That was strange," Rey said. "One of the Neo-Confederate blokes from the inn just parked that crazy car over there," she pointed at the Suburban, "and saw me. He looked like he wanted to talk to me, but as soon as he saw you he looked shocked and ran in the other direction. How can he be such a cretin? Like, I am speaking to a black man, he is going to run away? What the fuck? Finn, I am so sorry that there are people like that."

"Wow, Rey," Finn looked back and forth between her and the car. "I didn't see the guy at all but maybe there is some other explanation? Maybe he had to say something private to you, like "I accidentally dropped the decorative tea cozy with Princess Di embroidered on it in the toilet?"

"Finn!" Rey was laughing again and punched his shoulder. "You know I don't have a decorative tea cozy with Princess Di on it. Even Maz was not that obsessed with the royal family. The tea cozies are just crocheted."

"Ok, maybe he was jerking it thinking of you in a Confederate flag bikini and accidentally jizzed on your crocheted tea cozy?"

"Aaghh, Finn, you are the worst! How can you even--it's like Rose's awful humor is rubbing off on you!" Rey sputtered.

"Yeah, well, someone is rubbing off on--" he was cut off by a swift jab to the ribs from Rey.

"I totally walked into that one didn't I?" she laughed.

"Yes, yes you did," Finn nodded. "Anywho...what else do you need to know in order to help me and our friend in the FBI?"

Rey pondered, trying to return her thoughts to their serious business and get them away from Kyle-Ron's rude behavior. "Ok, so I have noticed that Mitaka is really into guns. And I think you had mentioned something about gun smuggling? Can you set up something where they get in trouble moving guns around?"

Finn nodded. "That was definitely a possible plan."

Rey's brow furrowed. "Could we not have the guns at the Inn though? I wouldn't feel super safe. Maybe we could bring in Chuy and do something at his shooting range?"

Finn considered it. "Perhaps. But I think the FBI folks have an idea involving boats and international borders. Our hope is to keep it as far from you personally as possible. You can just help out by talking about guns all the time. So a visit to the gun range might not hurt. Chuy is trustworthy, right? I'm guessing from the name, the guy is not a white supremacist?"

Rey giggled. "Not in the least. Loves all people unless they do something to make him want to rip their arms off."

"Sounds like a character," Finn smiled, standing up and offering a hand to Rey. "It's been great seeing you, but I've got to get out of here and see my lady."

"And I have food to buy," Rey responded. "Till next month, Finn," she said, hugging him farewell. "Wish me luck."

Neither of them noticed the long black figure who slipped out from behind a bakery stand to follow Rey, surprisingly unobtrusively for such a tall person.

 


	3. Border Skirmishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variety of Vermonters--and one Mountie--are plotting to ruin the Neo-Confederates' vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I have added and deleted some tags... the BlackKKlansman stuff is more background than I originally planned since Finn is "inspired by" Ron Stallworth rather than "being" Ron Stallworth. So, sorry if anyone was here for the straight-up Rey/Flip Zimmerman ship. Hope we get close enough with eventual Reylo. :)

Jessika Pava loved her life. She had a Master's degree in Library Science that she actually got to use. In a given week, she also got to use at least three of the five languages she learned growing up in Toronto (English, French and Mandarin). And the aspiring novelist part of her *loved* the fact that she got to witness so many weird people.

Jess was a librarian at the Haskell Free Library and Opera House in Derby Line, Vermont. Well, half was in Derby Line, Vermont. The other half was in Stanstead, Quebec. Even in the current tetchy climate for international border crossings with the US, special dispensations allowed Canadians to visit the library without passing border controls. Jess had taken advantage of this fact to take a job in the quirky old building (to be honest, there weren't that many jobs for a non-Quebecois librarian in the total backwoods of southern Quebec where she lived). Occasionally, though, someone tried to take advantage of the library's special status for...less than legal purposes.

Jess wondered if the occasional library visitor she was looking at right now was one of those folks. He was an older man, a bit of a silver fox type, who always looked well off and slightly less than reputable. He smirked at her when he came in, always slinging his well-worn leather jacket, emblazoned with the falcon insignia of an obscure motorcycle club, over the back of the same uncomfortable wooden armchair at the central reading table. As usual, he was reading one of the US papers that he took off the hanging rack. Sitting opposite him, partially obscured from Jessika's view by the newspaper, was a younger man, a Montrealer. She was sure of it based on his ridiculously trendy joggers. He nodded briefly at the man opposite him, then stood, gathering a pile of miscellaneous papers and clothes off the table into his backpack. Jess furrowed her brow. Was something shady going on between those two? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Speculation was good for writing stories, but she could profitably leave the actual investigation to the authorities.

Speak of the devil. Barely a minute passed after the young Quebecois man left before a new figure crossed the threshold of her reading room. This young man sported artfully disheveled curls over a sallow Mediterranean complexion. He was dressed in a bomber jacket and very new, clean cargo pants with combat boots. When he saw Jess, his eyes lit up and he grinned irresistably. 

"Poe Dameron," she greeted him. "Long time no see." His grin was so full of joy and charm she could almost imagine it was reserved for her, but Jess knew better. Officer Dameron of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Quebec -- "C Division" -- had a certain reputation. 

"I couldn't resist coming to visit you on my day off," he teased her. But Jess could give as good as she got.

"I can't resist a man in uniform. Next time come back when it isn't your day off!" she flirted.

Poe laughed pleasantly and gave her a mock salute before sitting down in the seat vacated by the young man minutes earlier. Jess pushed her cart of books to reshelve slightly into the stacks so that she could be more inconspicuous when she eavesdropped on whatever conversation the charming young French Canadian border control guard was about to have with her charming older American biker patron. She didn't have to wait long.

"Poe Dameron," the older man's gravelly voice intoned flatly.

"Mr. Solo. It's been a while," the Mountie responded.

"Call me Han," and after a beat, "your mom always did."

"Seriously, Han? You know I talk to Leia like every week. We do not need to be bringing Shara into this."

"Just messin' with you, kid. Now, what's up? You know how I love my..." there was a pause and Jessika could only imagine he was gesticulating, "quiet reading time."

"Right. Quiet reading time where MDMA changes hands," Poe snarked.

"What are you talking about," Han sputtered unconvincingly.

"Yeah whatever," Poe responded. "I'll arrest you some other day. For now, I am here in the hopes of redirecting your energies away from supplying the party needs of greater Montreal and towards helping to take down the Ku Klux Klan. Are you in?"

"Wait, what?" Han looked confused. "Yeah, sure. That sounds good. Or no, that sounds like Leia is behind this. Is Leia behind this shit, Poe?"

Poe sighed in an exaggerated Gallic way, shrugging. "Of course Leia is behind this. It is smart, therefore she is behind it. Now are you in or what?"

Han shook his head resignedly. "Yeah, I guess I am in. Just tell me what to do."

Poe began to detail some logistics that Jess could not follow very well. They involved a friend of Han's named Chuy, guns, boats, the FBI, and a young policeman from Boston. They also involved some friend of the policeman named Ray who owned a B&B, and Han's "massive fuck-up son," to quote the men.

Jess tried to regain focus on her task when she noticed she had shelved two books upside-down while engrossed in Poe's voice. Warning lights, Pava! she thought to herself. Falling for Poe Dameron would be the essence of stupid.

* * *

 

Finn and Rose were just pulling up to her small rented bungalow in Winooski when his phone rang. He sighed when he saw who was calling.

"Go on ahead, Rosie. I've gotta take this one outside." His wonderful (dare he say it?) girlfriend smiled understandingly and headed inside. After that amazing lunch she couldn't wait to brew a pot of coffee and veg on the couch. Police business calls notwithstanding, having Finn visiting up from Boston was the best, especially since Rey had given her the weekend off unexpectedly. She couldn't help but imagine that Rey had a secret match-making streak.

Out in Finn's Dodge Charger, there was a heated conversation going on. 

"If it isn't my favorite Fed," he said flatly. 

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me it was your girlfriend's inn," the voice growled over the phone without preamble.

"Whoa, hold your horses. What, are you stalking me or something?" Finn reflexively checked his rearview and side mirrors before shaking his head at his own paranoia. If his FBI contact was following him to Rose's home, then they weren't doing their actual job. Which was unlikely, given the individual's record.

"You do realize it is literally my job description to investigate other American citizens," deadpanned the agent. "But no, I am not stalking you. Just, why did we set this up someplace where there would be collateral damage?"

"B&Bs tend to have innkeepers, you know," Finn snarked. "Civilians are civilians even if they are not my girlfriend. And she isn't even working right now."

"Whatever, man. I actually didn't call to talk about that. I was wondering if you had any messages to transmit, since for some bizarre reason our bosses decided they had to transmit information to me through you."

"Makes no sense to me either, if that makes you feel any better," Finn assured his shadowy contact. "But yes, Rey and I proposed a gun dealer to Akbar and he passed it on to your director. She nixed the idea of dealing guns through him directly and is setting something up in the border islands instead. But the initial step will be to connect the Neo-Confederates to Rey's friend the gun dealer. It just so happens he is a prior acquaintance of your director."

"She knows everyone," groused the FBI agent. "Well, thanks, I guess, and I'll check back in when I can. Wizard's calling." The connection terminated. Finn shook his head, pocketed his phone, and immediately felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. That FBI contact was a real downer. Time to enjoy the last couple hours with his girlfriend before he had to go back to Boston for several weeks.

* * *

By early afternoon that Saturday most of the group had congregated back at the B&B. Hux had declared an important retreat meeting. All ten of the vacationing First Order Neo-Confederate Volunteers were present, though it had taken a while to roust people out of the various corners of the property. Phasma had been napping, Kyle-Ron was swearing at tangled fishing equipment, and Dolph had been cleaning his handgun. 

Hux cleared his throat. He was ready to give an impassioned speech. If there was one thing he lived for, one thing that drew him to the Neo-Confederate cause, it was the opportunity to give impassioned speeches. He could almost see himself President someday; President of the Confederate States of America. They would take all the good states and leave the filth like California and New York behind.

"Friends of the First Order," he began, now that most eyes were on him, "do you remember why we are gathered together this weekend?"

Bala-Tik raised his hand, then began to answer without bothering to wait for Hux to acknowledge him. "Well, in previous years we went up to Colonial Williamsburg because they have that annual neo-Confederate retreat around the time of Robert E. Lee's death. Now, personally I was never that impressed by Robert E. Lee. He was too friendly with the Northerners. But that's why we've gone on a trip at this time of year. This year," he turned to glare at Kyle-Ron, "Some dumbass decided we should go to Vermont instead. This place is full of liberal hippies. I definitely want to go back to Virginia next year." Jeff ran out of steam for his screed eventually.

Hux picked up on something he could impassionatedly run with. "Yes, Jeffrey, we go on a retreat every fall. It has honored the great General Lee in the past, but I think you understand why the Virginians are partial to the man. We came up here to find a white agrarian paradise," and now it was Hux's turn to glare at Kyle-Ron, "and in fact, I have only seen three people who might not have been Caucasian. Regardless of other issues. But we also came up here for a retreat. Now, do y'all know what a retreat is?"

There was silence. Noone ever knew if Hux's questions were rhetorical or if he actually wanted an answer. Eventually he stopped waiting and resumed talking. "You might think a retreat is when people give up ground in a war." Phasma and Mitaka exchanged glances. No, noone had thought that was what he meant by retreat. Didn't stop him going on about it, though. "A retreat can mean that, but it will NEVER MEAN THAT FOR THE FIRST ORDER!" Hux was screaming now.

"Many of us here come from the great state of North Carolina," Hux continued. "It's known as the Tar Heel State. D'you know why?" Once again nobody dared or bothered to answer him. "It's called the Tar Heel State because the soldiers from North Carolina who were defending their state's rights REFUSED TO SURRENDER. They retreated so slow it was like they had tar stuck on their heels." A few members of his audience looked perplexed. If the point was that they didn't retreat, why was he talking about how slowly they retreated? Nobody really expected Hux to make sense, though, so they just tuned out. He continued without noticing. 

"So we are not "IN RETREAT," my fellow Neo-Confederates," Hux blustered. "We are ON A RETREAT. That means when you take time away from society to refocus on your goals in a calm place."

Dolph chose this moment to speak up. "I've been on retreat before," he asserted obliviously. "We went and stayed at a monastery when I was in Confirmation preparation. I think they were hoping it would get some of us to decide to be priests. I just snuck into their brewery and went swimming in the Belgian dubbel fermentation tank. Yummy," he trailed off, perhaps realizing his story was becoming a little strange. Everyone was looking at him with open mouths or furrowed brows.

"Ew?" Phasma managed to respond. Hux was turning an interesting shade of red-purple.

"WHAT I WAS SAYING before Mr. Mitaka so intriguingly interrupted me, is that this is a time for us to refocus on our goals. So I would like to conduct an exercise where we each share what we admire most about the Confederacy. Phasma, why don't you go first." Hux, miraculously, stopped talking.

Phasma looked thoughtful for about three seconds before she smiled toothily at Hux. "I admire the Confederate men. So willing to stand up and die for what they believed in."

Hux nodded to Dolph, who was sitting clockwise from Phasma. He looked a bit lost before answering. "I believe in states' rights."

Bala-Tik was next. "I worship the Southern women. They know their place," he said, pointing a sneer at Phasma.

Kyle-Ron shook his head. "Whatever, dude. For me the Confederacy is about standing up to Northern progressive assholes. Eat this, suckers," and much to the surprise of Rey, who had been surreptitiously watching the whole meeting from her kitchen window, he ripped open his flannel shirt to reveal a Confederate flag tattoo on his left pectoral. The Neo-Confederate woman who was not Phasma and whose name Rey could never remember clapped in a sickening way for the spectacle.

Various other group members offered their reasons for loving the Confederacy. "I hate black people." "I want to make America great again by dividing it in half." "Slaves were happier as slaves."

Finally it was Hux's turn and he began on a screed about how it was his destiny to stand up to the international conspiracy led by George Soros and Hillary Clinton. Kyle-Ron and Dolph had confused looks on their faces as the speech went on for a full ten minutes. Phasma just looked like she was going to return to her nap.

Eventually Hux ran out of impassioned speech material and switched his topic to logistics. "I have noticed that SOME OF YOU," he pointedly looked at Kyle-Ron, "have been doing your own thing. This is NOT A VACATION. It is a RETREAT and we are meant to be getting to know one another. Now, even if you have a shitty personality and noone wants to get to know you," again with the glare at Kyle-Ron, "this is the whole point. So this afternoon we are all going on an outing together and YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT." 

"Sir yes sir!" shouted someone in the small crowd.

"I have asked Dolph to arrange an excursion to the shooting range for all of us. Dolph?" Hux gestured for him to take charge.

Mitaka smiled nervously. "Ah, yes, I spoke to our innkeeper and she recommends a shooting range in the next town. They have indoor and outdoor targets, skeet, and even paintball if we want a teambuilding exercise!" He sounded excited, but Hux scowled. "It is called Chuy's Bandolier and I have the address so you can put it in your GPS."

"Chuy's Bandolier? What kind of weird foreign name is that?" someone asked. 

By now Rey was strolling up to the assembled guests. "Hi guys! Chuy is my friend," she smiled. Seeing the continued questioning looks, she went on, hoping she was better at lying than she used to be. "So, you might think Chuy the Mexican nickname?" because that's what it is, she thought to herself. "Well, this Chuy is French Canadian!" Clearly her cheerfulness was not convincing anyone. "Chuy is a..." she hesitated, "very traditional, European nickname! It is from the French "mon chou,"" she adlibbed. "I should warn you that "mon chou" means "my little cabbage" and if you call Chuy that he will get violent! So just call him Chuy."

Rey felt eyes on her and turned to look at both Bala-Tik and Ronnie gazing at her. Bala-Tik looked irritable and appraising while Kyle-Ron looked enraptured. When she caught his gaze though he snapped out of it and closed down.

"Well, now that we have that unnecessary explanation, thank you," Hux continued rudely, "let's get over to the range. ALL OF YOU," he glared at Kyle-Ron, who shrugged. 

"Do you need me to come along?" Rey offered reluctantly. "Chuy can be hard to understand."

"We've got it under control, little lady," Bala-Tik smarmed smarmily. "Don't worry your little head, just make us some more of that delicious tea."

Rey fumed silently as she watched the First Order guests file out to their armada of pick-up trucks. Part of her hoped Jeff Bala-Tik would do something that merited arm-ripping-off. She'd owe Chuy for the rest of her life, but...it was appealing.

 

 


End file.
